where it rains and rains until it never rains again

Entries tagged with murder the gods

To set the scene, California Street is a quiet suburban-style street with cozy little houses, the oldest about a hundred years old and most of them from the 40's. It's lined with typical mature trees: a handful of redwoods, some palms, some oaks, some eucalyptus, and a fair number of those nameless landscaper's trees that are neither native nor especially useful or beautiful but there they are, they're trees so you have to give them their due. This stretch I'm walking starts after the WPA-era high school and runs to the playground at the entrance to the sewage plant, before it doglegs and runs on to the Circles, where it dead-ends into the church that lives where the cable car barn used to back in the days before the automobile took over everything.

It's about a quarter to nine on a weekday and really very.very quiet on this street. Once in a while someone goes by on a bicycle. Almost no cars. The dog and I are almost the only people here.

Suddenly the air is riven by a shout.

I'M GONNA MURDER ODIN

behind me is a very tall bearded man with amazingly upright posture. Probably under 35 years.

I'M GONNA MURDER FUCKING THOR

He's walking faster than me. Zluta is curious, keeps turning back to look at him. I urge her onwards.

I'M GONNA KILL ALL THE FUCKING GODS, YOU HEAR?

There is nobody else on this street. Nobody.

I'M DOING THIS IN SELF-DEFENSE

I'm starting to plan how to protect myself. What if the guy looks at me, a round lady leading a golden dog, and thinks "Fucking Freya! Thinks she can hide by swapping her cats for a fucking little dog!"

NOBODY KEEPS ME

He's getting much closer. When he yells he stops and turns and faces the sky. Of course. But then he walks fast and in a straight line and he is closing in on me. And nobody to run to.

I AM BY MYSELF

There's a little City Parks truck parked in front of the entrance to the sewage plant. A gardener! The dog and I turn in to the path and stand by the man blowing leaves though we both hate the sound of leaf blowers.

I DENY YOU

The tall straight man does not follow: he keeps walking, down Bay Street.